


everybody talks, everybody talks

by fantalaimon



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantalaimon/pseuds/fantalaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most ridiculous part, if Clark had to choose one, was that Bruce really seemed not to know about it.</p>
<p>There was a secret support network for everyone who had ever cared about Batman holding monthly meetings just outside of Gotham, and the <i>World’s Greatest Detective</i> didn’t know about it.</p>
<p>(A reader was kind enough to ask about translating this fic, so it is now also available <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7591069">in Chinese</a>!!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	everybody talks, everybody talks

**Author's Note:**

> This has been languishing in my drafts for something like two months, so I decided to throw in the towel and post it. I'm not really sure how I could go about denoting the time-shifts without compromising readability (personally, I have trouble with whole passages in italics), so hopefully it makes sense if I just say that the story is a chronologically linear progression from sections 1 to 3 to 5 and so forth, while 2/4/6/etc are also in chronological sequence, but take place in the past (if we consider 1/3/5/etc the present). ...That actually probably just made it more confusing, but hopefully it'll make sense if you'll bear with me long enough to read the fic.
> 
> Also, canon is kind of fuzzy here because, you know, *hand waves* my story! There are some pretty explicit references to Nightwing: Year One, but I don't think the fic is shot if you haven't read it or anything. Also also, though Dick is the most prominently featured batfam character in this fic, all the kids are around. It's just that a lot of characters have minor appearances, and I didn't want to bog down the tags.
> 
> Also x3, _wow_ do I suck at titles. This one is taken from Everybody Talks by Neon Trees because... why not, I guess?
> 
> Alright, that's more than enough of _me_ talking. Hope you enjoy!

The most ridiculous part, if Clark had to choose one, was that Bruce really seemed not to know about it.

There was a secret support network for everyone who had ever cared about Batman holding monthly meetings just outside of Gotham, and the _World’s Greatest Detective_ didn’t know about it.

“What, you’d prefer he _did_ know?” Dick asked when Clark gave voice to these thoughts. “He’d terrorize us into putting a stop to it, and then it’d only be a matter of time until someone was murdered.”

“Bruce wouldn’t like you joking about him killing someone,” Clark said, snorting as he cracked an egg into the bowl in front of him.

“Not _Bruce_ killing someone,” Dick said, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up onto Clark’s kitchen table. “One of our number. Or several. Admit it, this group is the only thing keeping half of us from the brink.”

“I think you’re exaggerating a bit, but I’m not actually trying to argue the point,” Clark said, measuring out flour. “I don’t want Bruce to find out. I just think it’s funny that he hasn’t. And get your feet off the table, Dick. I _eat_ there.”

“It’s not like you eat straight off the table, though, is it? I know you own plates.” Clark shot Dick a look over his shoulder. “ _Fine_ , Alfred the Second, fine.”

“Thank you,” Clark said, and used his powers to super-stir the ingredients until there was not the remotest possibility of any hidden lumps.

“You want to know what _I_ think the weirdest part of all of this is?” Dick asked.

“Sure,” Clark said, taking the seat across the table from Dick as he waited for the oven to finish preheating.

“We’re baking a birthday cake for _Harley Quinn_ ,” Dick said, leaning forward. “And I’m even genuinely excited to see her face when she catches sight of it.”

“Harley hasn’t been your enemy in a long time,” Clark said, shrugging. “Depending on how you look at it, I’m not sure she ever truly was. And anyway,” Clark said, standing when the oven beeped, “ _I’ve_ been doing all the baking. You’re just taking up space in my kitchen.”

Dick grinned as Clark walked past him. “But I still get to lick the batter off the spoon, right?”

Clark rolled his eyes, but he did end up passing Dick the spoon, ruffling his hair for good measure.

*

Superman had liked Robin as soon as he met him, and Robin had liked Superman long before that, but that didn’t make them friends. Clark hadn’t expected friendship to ever form between them, either. 

Superman and Robin were both partners to Batman; on good days, they might even be his family. But the League and Gotham were different, discrete areas of Batman’s life, only intersecting on rare occasions. Clark always enjoyed working with Dick, but, when the job was done, they went their separate ways. For all that there were some similarities between their personalities, the fact remained that, situationally speaking, their respective relationships to the Bat were all they had in common.

But, as it turned out, the exasperated looks they sometimes shared behind Bruce’s back were as good a starting place for a friendship as anything.

By the time Dick showed up at the Daily Planet, hurt and trying to act brave and looking for any advice that could make it better, Clark was more than capable of recognizing that Dick wasn’t just another kid to him. He thought the fact that Dick’s first thought when he felt lost and unwanted was to come to him was also sufficient evidence that Dick, in turn, saw Clark as more than just another friend of his father’s.

Clark would like to think he did for Dick what he would have done for anyone in his situation. He gave the best advice he could and sent Dick on his way. He was relieved Dick wasn’t actually looking for a new partner because, had Dick pressed the issue, Clark probably would have caved, and how the hell would _that_ have worked? Not easily, and probably not well. Besides, Dick deserved to make a life of his own. Even though Clark really would have preferred that Dick had been able to fly coop in his own time, rather than be pushed from the damn nest.

So Clark had tried to give Dick the guidance that would serve him best, leaving the clenching feeling in his own gut at the sight of Dick’s distress out of it. He kept his cool and did (he hoped) as he would have done for anyone else. This wasn’t about Clark or how badly he just wanted to wrap his arms around Dick Grayson and call him “son” and promise everything would be alright.

What he said to Dick that day wasn’t about that, at least. What he said to Bruce that night, on the other hand--

“Who are you to tell me how to raise my son?” Bruce had demanded, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, don’t give me that shit,” Clark had snapped right back, hands fisted at his sides. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I can see clearly enough that this has _nothing_ to do with teaching Dick a lesson and _everything_ to do with you being so afraid he’ll outgrow you that you decided to _throw him away_ before he got the chance. Because, hey, at least that way, you’re still in _control_ , right?”

Bruce had gone pale and told Clark to get the fuck out of his city.

At the time, Clark hadn’t been able to bring himself to feel anything but bitter satisfaction at having actually punched through Bruce’s bullshit when he stormed out of the Cave, barely slowing to return Alfred’s slight nod.

Later, when Dick was back on the radar (going by Nightwing, even), Clark still didn’t feel bad for what he had said, and he certainly wasn’t going to take any of it back. What he did do, though, was accept the coffee Bruce wordlessly handed over to him while they were on monitor duty and ask a few stilted questions about the new Robin. The questions were met with even more stilted answers, and the next day Diana told Clark she was glad to see that he and Bruce had made up.

That, Clark supposed, was good enough.

*

Unsurprisingly, Harley was over the moon when she saw the cake. They’d even all hid behind furniture and jumped out to surprise her when she turned on the lights. That choice came with a calculated risk of injury, but, thankfully, instead of reaching for a weapon, Harley had clapped her hands over her mouth and squealed in delight.

Clark had figured that she would want the whole experience. There were streamers and everything.

Even though these meetings existed to give people a place to talk about their Bat-shaped issues, there was a strict “no Bat-talk until after cake and presents” rule in place for the night. There had actually been no discussion of presents, but, somehow, everyone had shown up with one anyway.

“Do you think we should we ask about Selina’s?” Dick had whispered to Clark when they saw her offer the small box to Harley.

Clark had considered it, but then Harley had tackled Selina into an enormous hug, and, well, it was unlikely to be anything dangerous, so Clark just shook his head. “Probably better we don’t know.”

When Diana was giving Harley her present--a piggy back ride, and it really appeared to be Harley’s favorite gift of the night--Poison Ivy appeared out of nowhere to corner Clark. Since Ivy was by no means a part of their group, this came as... something of a surprise. Everyone knew that she and Harley were in a relationship, of course, but Ivy had never made an appearance at their little gatherings before. After all, her connection to Batman lacked the undercurrent of affection that was the whole point of there _being_ a support group in the first place.

But then again, no one had known what to think when Harley Quinn had first shown up to one of these things either, and look how that had turned out. Besides, even if the number of masked crusaders in attendance wasn’t enough to discourage Ivy from violence, Clark got the feeling that she wouldn’t want to ruin her girlfriend’s birthday party.

“Um,” Clark said eventually. She’d just been staring at him the whole time. “Hey, Ivy. What’s up?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she pivoted so that she was no longer directly facing him, though she wasn’t fully facing away. “I wanted to thank you,” she said, voice low. “For doing this for her.”

“Oh,” Clark said, blinking. “It’s no problem. It was all of us, anyway.”

“But mostly you, I think,” Ivy said. “And I appreciate it. She’s very happy, and I--I could not have made this happen for her.” Ivy crossed her arms, eyes on the floor. “I don’t have your resources.” She paused. “Friends, that is.”

“Maybe we could work on that,” Clark said, gesturing around the room with a small smile.

Ivy’s lips parted in surprise, then pressed into a thin line. “You’re very kind, Superman. That’s going to get you in trouble, some day.”

“Believe me, Ivy,” Clark said, sighing, “it already has.”

*

Really, Clark was not a gossip. He didn’t talk about people behind their back. When he found people to be frustrating, he worked towards a positive solution or simply forced himself to move past it.

...Usually.

But Bruce was _so difficult_.

“Gee, Supes. Does the rest of the Justice League hate B as much as you do?” Dick had asked after a particularly passionate tirade, smirking at Clark as he swung his legs from the fire escape they were sitting on.

“I don’t hate him,” Clark had answered, letting his head fall back against the brick of the building with a _thunk_. He shut his eyes. “I love him. That’s the _problem_.”

When there was no answer, Clark opened his eyes to see Dick staring at him, face a mask of shock. 

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Clark said. “I didn’t mean it that way. He’s my best friend.”

“Right,” Dick drawled. “Sure, Superman. Whatever you say. You’re a beacon of heterosexuality.”

“Hold on, I never said _anything_ about heterosexuality.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” Dick choked. “You’re coming out to me? I haven’t even come out to you yet!”

“I don’t have a closet to come out _of_. Just because it hasn’t come up between us until now doesn’t mean I was ever trying to conceal it.” Clark paused, then snorted. “Besides, I’m an alien. I really feel like that means I should be _assumed_ not to care about gender.”

“People may not _assume_ ,” Dick said, giving Clark an exaggerated once-over, “but we certainly _hope_.”

“Oh, Rao, no. Stop this.”

“You played a _big_ role in my sexual awakening, you know.” Dick waggled his eyes.

“ _Gross_ , Dick. You’re practically an infant.” _You’re practically my son_ went unsaid.

“Yeah, I know.” Dick laughed. “It’s really weird to think about now. Not that you’re not still hot. You’re totally still hot, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Grayson,” Clark said, keeping his voice as dry as possible.

“I just personally couldn’t fuck you.”

Clark yelped. “ _Dick--_ ”

“Oh no, no, I know that look,” Dick said. “I already got the sex talk from the other one, thanks. Don’t really need to relive that.”

That sobered Clark up. “Does Bruce know about you?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Dick said. “His lack of a closet was way more obvious to me than yours, so there wasn’t really any reason to hide it.” 

Now it was Clark’s turn to stare. “What?”

“Uh,” Dick said. “You didn’t know?”

Clark stared down into the alley beneath them. “No, I didn’t.”

An awkward silence quickly settled in, and Clark didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

After a few minutes, Dick cleared his throat. “So, uh, weren’t you saying something about him being insufferable?”

*

Clark wasn’t certain how he always seemed to end up on better terms with Bruce’s family than Bruce himself, but his apartment had certainly hosted its fair share of wayward bats in its day. Dick actually had a key, although Clark had no memory of giving him one. The others usually just let themselves in via the window, except for Barbara and Tim, who actually deigned to knock.

At first, they came one or two at a time, but then their visits started overlapping more, and eventually Clark found himself hosting the whole hoard of them on a nearly-weekly basis. These visits were arranged without his knowledge. Sometimes, he would get a call from Tim on his way out of work politely asking if Clark wanted him to bring anything, and that was the best notice he could hope for. More often, Clark simply arrived in the evening to find his home overrun.

“I can’t understand why you don’t simply move to Gotham,” Damian said once, between bites of one of the four pizzas lying on Clark’s living room floor. (Yes, at some point even _Damian_ had joined the infestation). “It would be more convenient than all of us coming to Metropolis every time.”

“You know I never actually _asked_ any of you to come here, right?” Clark asked, incredulous.

“Tt,” Damian said, waving a hand dismissively.

“I mean, seriously, you know I love you guys--”

“We love you too, Clark,” Cassandra interjected smoothly.

“--but _why_ do you keep coming here? Are monthly support meetings not enough for you? Because I feel I ought to remind you that you have plenty of sympathizers closer to home.”

“Wait, Clark,” Dick said, sounding suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh. “Do you think we come here because we want to get away from Bruce?”

“Well, I don’t think _you_ do,” Clark grumbled.

“Hey!” Steph said. “Favoritism!”

“Was that favoritism?” Tim asked, frowning. “I’m pretty sure he’s just confused.”

“Guess we haven’t been blatant enough about our _intentions_ ,” Jason said, reaching for another slice of Meat Lover’s Supreme. “We come because you’re the fun dad, Clark.”

“The _what?_ ”

“Clark,” Babs said, frowning. “Do you want us to stop coming?”

Seven pairs of eyes turned on him, wide and entreating. 

“Ugh,” Clark said, grabbing for the remaining third of the pepperoni pizza. “ _No,_ I don’t want you to stop coming.”

Seven smiles of varying luminosities broke out across the room.

“But I still think it would be easier if you would just move,” Damian grumbled.

*

“So you know how we complain about Bruce behind his back all the time?” Dick asked when he appeared at Clark’s side out of the blue.

“Not _all_ the time,” Clark protested. “And hello to you too.” 

“Most of the time, then. Hi, Clark.”

“Okay, yeah. What about it?”

“Well, the rest of the family _also_ complains about Bruce behind his back all the time.”

“So does half the League,” Clark admitted.

“Right,” Dick said, nodding. “And when you add all individual commiseration-fests together, that is a _lot_ of my Bruce-free time getting eaten up with being irritated by Bruce.”

“Good point,” Clark said. “You think we should stop talking about him?”

Dick looked appalled at the mere suggestion. “God, no. What’s wrong with you? We need this. No,” Dick said, shaking his head, “I think we should start a _club_.”

“A… club.”

“The ‘Let’s All Get Together And Talk Shit About Batman’ Club. That way, everyone gets it out of their system, and we won’t have to repeat so many complaints. Membership would be restricted to people who actually sort of care about him, though, obviously.”

“Alright,” Clark said.

“Really? Just like that?”

Clark shrugged. “It sounds efficient.”

“Wally is driving you up the wall, isn’t he?”

“Like you would not _believe_ , Dick,” Clark groaned.

“Cool. Then it’s settled,” Dick said, grinning. “Now we just have to get the word out and see if anyone shows.”

*

Bruce was furious.

Clark was dimly aware that this was probably inevitable, but he was too busy panicking to take the time to reflect right now.

This wasn’t the cold, controlled anger that Clark had come to expect from Bruce. Man of Steel or not, it was terrifying. Clark wanted to get the hell out of there, not step forward to face his friend’s anger head on.

But right now that anger was all directed at Dick, and there was no way Clark was walking out on him now.

“Bruce, _stop_ ,” Clark said, putting himself between Bruce and Dick. He crossed his arms, squared his shoulders, kept his chin up. Tried to look the part, despite not feeling it one bit. “This isn’t Dick’s fault. I don’t know if you somehow failed to notice, but there were quite a lot of us there.”

Clark had expected Bruce to rise to meet Clark’s challenge, to snarl and shout and push until one of them broke.

Instead, it was Bruce’s rage that broke, the minute Clark stepped in. It broke like a wave against the shore, and, when it washed away, Clark could see the raw hurt that had been hiding underneath it.

Bruce left without another word.

“Shit,” Dick said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you going after him, or am I?”

“I am,” Clark said. Walking to the door felt a little like walking to the gallows, but, on his way, he still found himself reaching out and ruffling Dick’s hair. With all the confidence he didn’t feel, Clark promised, “I’ll fix it.”

*

“It’s like he’s _intentionally_ driving us all away,” Stephanie had been shouting, the rest of the group nodding along.

Dick’s eyes had found Clark’s from across the table, accompanied by a wry smile. _Amateurs_ , that smile had said. 

Diana had chimed in, saying, “Every time I start to think he’s getting comfortable with us, he finds something to make an issue of.”

Clark had cleared his throat. “Whether he’s trying to drive us away or not--” _which he is,_ Dick’s eyebrows has said “--we’re not going anywhere, right?”

Steph had crossed her arms and fallen back into her seat with a huff. “Well, duh.”

*

Clark found Bruce sitting on the floor of a relatively unremarkable room that Clark had never been in before, staring into the blaze of a lit fireplace. 

“So I was thinking we could try this new thing,” Clark said, “where we actually talk to each other about what we’re feeling.”

“I thought you had a _support group_ for that,” Bruce said, eyes fixed to the fire.

“And you have a cave to brood in; that’s why I said it was _new_.”

To Clark’s surprise, Bruce actually did start talking, and not just to tell Clark off. “I knew,” Bruce said, gaze locked on the flames, “that you all talked about me. I am,” he ground out, “a difficult person. I know this. It--” He stopped.

“It’s intentional,” Clark said, gently, as he came to sit on the floor beside Bruce. “Yeah, I know that.”

Bruce didn’t look at him. “It’s necessary.”

“Debatable,” Clark said.

“I knew what I was doing.” Bruce looked down. “And I knew the effect it would have. But I wasn’t expecting--” He drew in a breath. “I was surprised.”

“It only started because nothing seemed to get through to you,” Clark said, voice quiet. “No matter how hard we tried with you, we got nothing. It was frustrating. It helped to vent.”

“Maybe you should have taken the hint and stopped trying,” Bruce said.

“Never.” Clark’s voice brooked no argument.

“Why?” Bruce asked. “No one even _likes_ me, not really.”

“Maybe not always,” Clark allowed. “Like you said, you can make it difficult sometimes. But we always love you.”

Bruce’s shoulders went stiff. “You shouldn’t say that word so lightly.”

“I don’t say it lightly at all.”

Bruce scoffed. “And you’ve been authorized by all the others to say that on their behalf.”

“Okay,” Clark said, slowly. “Fair point. I shouldn’t speak for the others.”

Bruce smiled, but the humor of it wasn’t a kind Clark wanted to see. If he dropped this now, it was all over. Bruce would make up his mind, and there’d be no changing it.

All or nothing, Clark supposed. “I can only speak for myself,” he said quietly.

Bruce _finally_ looked at Clark, eyes wide.

“I can only speak for myself, so that’s what I’ll do,” Clark said, reaching out to cover Bruce’s hand with his own.

“Clark,” Bruce said. “What--”

“I love you,” Clark said. He thought back to a night long ago, of a conversation on a firescape, of an accidental confession and hurried deflections. The words were essentially the same, but there was no ambiguity in what he was saying now. He knew he couldn’t take this back. “I love you, Bruce.”

He used to think that maybe, when he finally said it, it would provide some release. The feelings had been building inside him so long now, and, when he couldn’t push them back down, he’d thought maybe, if he just put them all out there, it might ease the pressure in his chest that had been with him constantly, for all these years. Clark realized now that he was wrong. His words made the air heavy, bearing down. Now it wasn’t just a shortness of breath, it was suffocation.

He thinks he probably knew, deep down, that there was nothing _he_ could have done about any of this. Bruce was the source of this problem, and only he could put an end to it.

All Clark could do was hope that, for _once_ , Bruce was actually listening.

But Bruce wasn’t moving, or speaking. He wasn’t even blinking.

Clark supposed that was answer enough. Time to cut his losses and retreat with what dignity he had left. _At least he’s not mad at Dick anymore,_ Clark thought, and it was almost funny.

Clark drew his hand away from Bruce’s, but, before he could do anything else, Bruce surged forward and sealed their lips together. One of his hands tangled in Clark’s hair, the other sliding along Clark’s back, and Clark really hoped this actually meant that Bruce loved him back because there was no way he could break away from Bruce’s mouth long enough to ask.

*

“You only want me for my kids,” Bruce said, later, eyes half-lidded and head pillowed on Clark’s shoulder.

Clark laughed softly as he trailed his hand up and down Bruce’s arm. “That's not true,” he said, smiling. “I already have them.”


End file.
